


yearning

by guesso



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Poetry, past megop, the feelings are mutual but neither of them want to make a move
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-01-21 02:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21292109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guesso/pseuds/guesso
Summary: Collection of poems and drabbles, from either Megatron or Minimus' perspective (respectively) addressing their relationship as it progresses.
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus, past Megatron/Optimus
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. nameless vows

It's been, millennia,

those old sparks of ours

strut-deep that

longing

never to have

amounted

to supernovas

drifting by

these glyphs

of different hands,

young, foolish, and

hopeful anew

I would give you

what my old being

once said

should you

reread

nameless vows


	2. these shards

These shards

bleeding me

dry

gracefully 

placed by

your tactful

dutiful

precise words

To have

lived and

died once

already, reborn

in boiling

rage and yet

quenched when

flowered graves

drowned in

blood of

civilizations

\- comical,

that I see

rebirth

cradled

tenderly in

denial.

Strength?

no, it is

no mere

feat of

strength

that keeps

these palm

slivers from

halting the

rotations

of my spark

of all things 

it is

foolish

hope

that one day

your daggers

might balm

the same wounds

we planted

together


	3. misaligned glyphs

Those misaligned

glyphs we

have taken in

more correct a

capturing of our

broken sparks

under your

rigid polish

hides hands which

tell fathoms

of neglect - 

without and

in

these formalities a

buffer

from the 

oxidation of

putrid

wounds

so send those

uptight scrawls

not a weary stroke

lost in

translation


	4. blackberry

I had loved

once

those thorns

about my

soul casing

so fierce then

quelled and

turned

hollow

once I

forgot myself

and

love oh

love how

you cut and

cut and

cut the

ever growing

bramble I

sought to

make my world.

I had loved

once

and now he

is new

he

reminds me

of our

stolen

library hours

your

sharp wit

and 

round new

eyes

forgive me,

savior

whom I

had loved

once

forgive me

and my

blackberry

hands


	5. ruin

I could never. It's nigh unbearable, the levels of borderline unprofessionalism - not to mention it's just, the morality of it all. To be in such a position as to risk all my title stands for is one dilemma in itself - its own issue that can be duly reprimanded and corrected should things fall so shamefully far. But this? To be pulled away from all that I know to be correct and just, for matters of pointless emotion, no less, and by the antithesis of all I've sworn my life to - of all people, it had to be you. It, infuriatingly, had to be you that met every standard I'd once set so exponentially high as to defer <strike>myself </strike>anyone from ever trying.

Those gentle words with which I begged, clung to, made myself the embodiment of my work in order to one day, hopefully, make real - of course they had to, just had to, be yours. The irony of it all to have to be struck down with the one tool used to <strike>inspire</strike> ensure perseverance and hope

How can such beauty and longing be born of something so heinous? I have done everything _right_, and yet, the maker <strike>enjoys</strike> delights in watching my carefully constructed adherence to method, dogma, rule, disintegrate - he must, for I can think of no other reason for this paralyzing, burning torment.

How cruel this life to finally ruin me once the war has ultimately ended.


	6. yet still burn

to be so

far removed

that the

thrashing and

screaming jolts

of one’s own

heart cannot

wake the body

\- well it just

stands to reason

we were never

meant to pursue

this.

To make amends,

that is my

newfound purpose.

Not to take

selfishly

the pleasures of

man

Is it unholy

if the person in 

question was

bastard born - 

irredeemable acts

unrelenting

Aside from all

those bloodbaths

staining me

I also

kissed the lips

of Jesus and

struck us both down,

brought the

plagues on

this world

and reaped 

more souls

than born.

This husk

I inhabit

need not

make room

for longing.

Hands of such

a wretch

deserve not

a single kindness

to hold.

The man of

God who stands

by my bed,

amongst the terrors,

these night-

demons

aplenty

He makes me

walk that

line. Reminds 

me well of

the sins and

the Beloved

Savior

I 

Crucified

To make amends.

That is my

newfound purpose.

Should I drag

him into the

void I call a

soul,

purgatory 

shall be eternal.

We may never

return

and the world

yet

still burn.


	7. maglev

Ah

my beloved nemesis

with which you draw

me on, those

ringing lyrics

blasphemous true

and

how you haunt

me on, those

kintsugi lenses

fractured lanterns

in the leagues

between

us and now

my cherished

inevitable downfall - 

they’re still there,

no matter how you

buff or sand

cathedral glass still

casts its glow

on jagged sins

and

perhaps more beautiful

to one who 

was not witness

to crescendo cracking

(is that honest?)

dearly detested

I want not

and need aplenty

pools of

naive starlight

rippling into

darkness - 

we were there,

we were there

to see it

before it got too far

no beacons to

bring it round

spark of my spark

I have loved hating

and hated loving

but ultimately,

there’s no? such thing

as soulmates.

leastways, beloved

there is us

and the epilogue

of our crusade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> excerpt shown in the book behind the journal is the last part of the introduction of anne carson's short talks:  
" ... took up the fascicles. Put them in a crate. Locked it. Then together we viewed the landscape. Their instructions were clear, I am to imitate a mirror like that of water (but water is not a mirror and it is dangerous to think so). In fact I was the whole time waiting for them to leave so I could begin filling in the parts I missed. So I am left with three fascicles (which I hid). I have to be careful what I set down. Aristotle talks about probability and necessity, but what good is a marvel, what good is a story that does not contain poison dragons. Well you can never work enough."


End file.
